The Wrong Side of the Tracks
by DobbyRocksSocks
Summary: Maybe wrong isn't always bad.


**Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise. **

**Written for Pairing The Character - **DeanPiers

**Word Count - **817

_**Warning **__for mentions of offscreen child abuse._

_Beta'd by Lucy _

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**The Wrong Side of the Tracks **

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He wandered with his hands in his pockets, his hood pulled up to protect his ears from the wind. It was an aimless wander, he'd just needed to get out of the house. His father was drunk, _again, _and Piers' ribs were still aching from his father's last bender.

He didn't need to be around for a repeat.

Kicking stones onto the train tracks, he blinked when he realised one of them barely missed a boy sitting on a rock that Piers hadn't noticed.

"Sorry," he called out, pausing his walk. The boy just nodded at him, his attention quickly returning to what Piers thought was a sketchpad that rested precariously on his knees.

He'd never seen the boy before, which, given he was sitting on the opposite side of the train tracks, wasn't a huge surprise. They didn't ever cross the tracks. Not even Dudley dared break such a sacred rule.

It had been drilled into them all from a young age that the people on the other side of those tracks weren't like them. They were rougher, harder, _poorer, _and they had no morals. Piers always felt a slight chill of fear whenever he walked alongside them.

He supposed that was _why _he liked to follow them so much; it was nice to feel fear from something normal.

The older he got, the more he understood that being scared of his home, of his family; that wasn't normal.

"What are you drawing?" he asked, his heart thumping in his chest.

He knew he should have just continued walking, but there was just _something _about the boy that made Piers curious.

The boy looked up again, his head tilting as he regarded Piers. Eventually, he said, "Why don't you come and have a look?"

Piers swallowed hard. There were no trains around; crossing the tracks would be safe enough, in theory.

Feeling brave, Piers nodded and stepped over the metal rail. Within moments, he was on the other side, standing close to the boy. His adrenaline made his blood pump faster, and it was a moment before he realised that he was breathing a little harder than was necessary.

The boy held his hand out for Piers to shake.

"Dean," he introduced himself, with a small smile.

Piers shook his hand firmly, and introduced himself quietly. He was staring at the sketchpad in the boys lap.

"That's amazing," he admitted, eyes tracing over the landscape drawing. The train tracks ran diagonally through the middle of the page, shaded beautifully. On one side of the track, it was beautifully coloured, rich greens and browns, flowers and the large oak tree Piers had just walked past. On the other side, Dean had done muted colors, mostly grey scale with hints of brown and black, rocks and stones, the occasional weed.

Dean's lips tilted up slightly. "Thanks."

"I, uh. I've never been on this side of the tracks," Piers admitted, rubbing his neck. "My, uh, well. Everyone gets warned against it, I guess. What's it like?"

"It's… home," Dean replied with a shrug. "We don't have much here, and so many people need more than they have but… everyone helps each other, you know?"

"Not really," Piers admitted. He couldn't imagine his mother ever admitting to the neighbours that she didn't have something. It would be gossiped about for _months_.

"That's… sad."

Piers chafed a little, and he was about to reply sharply that at least he had money, but… was money really that important? Wouldn't it be better to know that there were people to count on just a stone's throw away?

He shrugged and shuffled the toe of his foot against the floor. "I should, uh, go. But… you're really talented. So… thanks for showing me?"

Dean nodded, looking at him with clear curiosity. "Do you want to take a look around? I'll show you some more of my work, if you want?"

Piers checked his watch, planning to make an excuse for having to go home, but he couldn't seem to control his tongue, because instead he said, "I'd like that."

It wasn't like he really _had _to go home anyway. His mother wouldn't notice, if she was even home, and he didn't _want _to run into his dad, so it would be better the later he went home. There was more chance of him already having passed out drunk.

Dean stood up and tucked his sketchpad under his arm. "This way then. I have a feeling you'll like it here more than you're expecting."

Piers arched an eyebrow. "How do you know what I'm expecting?"

Smirking, Dean replied. "You're on the 'wrong side of the tracks', right? I'm going to prove to you that wrong isn't always bad."

Piers didn't reply, but he was already anticipating Dean being correct.

After all, if his side of the tracks was right, maybe he _wanted _to be wrong.


End file.
